


A Bitter Start

by Scylla87



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Legend of Super Flarrow Fluff Weekend 2018, Soulmates, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla87/pseuds/Scylla87
Summary: While in juvie Mick Rory finds himself drawn to one of the new kids in a way he's never felt before. When he sees the kid get jumped, he can't help himself from coming to his rescue.





	A Bitter Start

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a first for me. I've never written soulmates before, and it is probably barely there, a blink and you miss it thing. I'm sorry for that. This is just something that popped into my head for the Legends of Super Flarrow Fluff Weekend. Though this is more angsty than fluffy. Sorry about that. Hopefully you guys like it though.

A Bitter Start

Mick Rory had never believed in fate. His mother had always believed in all that cosmic crap, but as far as he was concerned, fate was just more hippie bullshit he would never buy into. Not until he saw him for the first time in the yard.

 

It had been just another day in juvie as far as Mick was concerned, nothing special to distinguish it from all the other days he had spent in what was just his latest hellhole. He had been standing with his back toward the building when a sudden urge to turn around seized him, catching sight of the newcomers in the process. Almost out of habit, he scanned the crowd of new boys, sizing each one up carefully. When his eyes fell on the boy everything changed.

 

On the surface, there had been nothing particularly special about the kid. He was young, certainly younger than Mick and possibly even one of the youngest kids to arrive since Mick had first been sent there a few months before, but there was no trace of fear on the boy’s face as he walked. The other boys looked afraid, but this boy carried himself confidently, a slight swagger to his step. It was probably all an act, but sometimes the best way to survive was merely to act tough anyway. Mick couldn’t help but watch him as the boy came to a stop, eyes flicking around the yard with special attention. There was a sudden certainty in his gut telling him that this kid was important to him that was beyond explanation. This was not the kind of person that Mick would have picked out as an ally on the outside, let alone in juvie. The boy was small and scrawny. It seemed a big enough gust of wind would blow him over effortlessly, the clothes they had given him hanging off the boy like he was little more than a coat hanger. Oddly, opposed to immediately dismissing the kid based on appearance, Mick was overcome with a sudden desire to feed him. That was always his mother’s solution to everything, food. Bad day in school? Food. Dad in a drunken rage? Food. The neighbors fallen on hard times? Food. No one in the general proximity of Mama Rory had ever known hunger for long. It didn’t matter how hard times may be for the Rory’s themselves, there was always a helping hand with a home cooked meal ready and waiting for all who needed it. Somehow over the years Mick had come to associate the act of feeding people with care, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he wanted to care for this boy. A good home cooked meal might put some meat on his bones. And bones seemed to be all the boy possessed. The thought sent a pang of concern through Mick. He frowned. This boy was nothing to him. Why should he care whether or not this kid was taken care of or not?

 

He glared in the general direction of the newcomer for a moment longer before turning away. But the act of turning away was difficult in a way he couldn’t describe. It almost felt like an invisible rope attached to him was pulled taunt as he went to come away. It was a new sensation for him that he tried very hard to ignore, but even with his back turned he was still acutely aware of the presence of the boy mere feet away. An uneasiness came over him suddenly. But the source of the feeling was unknown. As usual everyone else in the yard gave Mick a wide berth. Instinctively he turned back toward the kid to find him surrounded by a group of the bigger kids. The only look on his face was defiance, but Mick could feel the boy’s wariness. That was good. It meant the kid wasn’t stupid, that he knew the danger he was in. Mick watched carefully as the boy spoke. He was too far away to hear the words, but he suspected that whatever they had been, they had been unwise. His feet had just begun to carry him forward when a sudden punch to the gut stopped Mick in his tracks. The hit hadn’t been directed at him but he had felt it anyway.

 

There was a long moment where Mick stood frozen, watching the boy doubled over in the middle of the circle of older kids. And then the boy stood up again and muttered something that Mick was still too far away to hear. A flash of anger crossed the face of one of the aggressors just before he hit the kid again. Despite the pain along his cheek, Mick began forward once more. The blows continued, the boy not even trying to defend himself. The sight hurt more than the secondary twinge of their fists. This was a boy who knew how to take a beating. The thought sent a twinge of rage through Mick. Whoever laid a hand on this kid would pay, starting with each of the pucks surrounding him. With each blow, the newcomer would say something, his face contorted in rage as he taunted the other boys. Mick hastened his pace. If this kid wasn’t careful, whatever he was saying was going to get him killed. As he watched, the boy disappeared in the mass on bodies. “Hey,” Mick yelled, a sharp pain in his side making it difficult to keep going.

 

One of the boys turned to see who had yelled. A dark look crossed his face as he caught side of Mick. “Not your business Rory.” He clearly meant it as a warning, but it came out more as a question.

 

Mick growled as he continued forward despite the pain. They were really going to hurt this kid if he didn’t do something. A voice in the back of his mind continued to whisper in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t care either way, that it really wasn’t his business, but by now it was merely an annoying hiss that he found it easy to ignore. “I’m making it my business, and you know what I do to people who get involved in my business.” He stopped about a foot in front of the seething throng of boys beating the new kid to a pulp and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. The boy eyed it cautiously. “Are you getting involved in my business?”

 

There was fear in the boy’s eyes, but he refused to budge. “You need to clear off. This one belongs to us.” His words were tough, but he couldn’t hold his ground as Mick came closer.

 

It was with a certain amount of satisfaction that he watched the boy take a half step back, almost falling over his friends in the process. “Last change,” Mick told him. “Clear off and I won’t be forced to retaliate.”

 

He slipped the lighter back into his pocket. Now was not the time for that. If he started setting them on fire the kid might burn too, and Mick couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him. None of the other boys were paying attention to him, so he punched the one that was facing him. The kid fell back against the others. Mick waded into the throng, searching for his quarry. There were fists flying everywhere, and the boy was at the bottom of the pile. He knew the second that they touched, a jolt shooting through him like a flash of lightning. It was the most intense burn that he had ever felt in his life but the pain was chilling, bitterness biting into his skin. Seeing the boy up close made him even angrier. Just the sight of his face made Mick hesitate, wanting so much to hurt those that had caused these injuries. He growled harshly, gingerly trying to pull the boy to safety while pushing the others away. It was difficult to distinguish between the blows he was taking himself and the ones the boy was taking instead. The pain of both were nearly unbearable as he finally pulled the boy away. “What the hell is going on here?” one of the guards snapped.

 

Of course they would show up now that the fight was over. Mick gritted his teeth; he wanted so much to snap back but knew that he would need to resist the urge. “They attacked him,” he said instead, holding up the injured boy.

 

The guard looked unsure about that. “And you had no part in I’m betting.” The man’s voice was biting.

 

Normally he would have been right, but being accused of hurting this boy rankled. He would never had laid a hand on him. Just the thought was painful. “He needs to see someone,” Mick said. His words were helped by the soft moan the boy gave as Mick shifted.

 

The guard looked the new kid up and down, taking in his bloodied appearance. “Fine. Take him to the infirmary and wait for me there.”

 

Mick didn’t need to be told twice. He half drug, half carried the boy away from the scene in the yard. The group of boys stood glaring sullenly after him, but he had no time to concern himself with them. They would get what was coming to them soon enough, of that he knew. They would not get away with even considering touching this boy. But for now he had to make sure that the kid was alright. There would be time for revenge later. The first time he had ever had that thought in his life.

 

They rounded the corner to the infirmary and Mick gritted his teeth. If they weren’t able to save him… The thought was too painful to even finish to himself. “He need some help,” he called into the empty room.

 

A head pocked itself out of a back office, taking in the scene with a scowl. “What did you do now Rory?” the attendant asked.

 

They had encountered each other many time since Mick had first been sent up and there was no love lost between them. “Nothing,” he snapped. “A bunch of kids jumped him in the yard. _I_ saved him.”

 

The man glaring at him didn’t seem to believe that for a second, but it was clear that the kid Mick was supporting needed immediate attention. That took precedence over everything else. He took the boy from Mick without another word and directed him toward the empty bed. All Mick could do was watch as the kid’s injuries were examined carefully. He didn’t like the man touching him, could feel the discomfort and twinges of pain the boy felt as he was poked and prodded. “You have several broken ribs,” the attendant muttered, with a ugly glare over his shoulder at Mick. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

 

“I was told to stay.” Mick’s words came out more as a grunt than an answer. Even if he hadn’t been told to stay, he had no intention of leaving.

 

The man took him at his word and turned back to his patient. There was more prodding that neither boy appreciated. Mick glared at his back. How dare he cause this kid more pain? The only thing that halted his anger in his tracks was the sudden flash of panic that shot through him. This time it was clear where the emotion had come from. The man was trying to pull the boy’s shirt off, and despite his injuries they boy was fighting to get away. “Hey!” Mick shouted. “What are you doing to him? Leave him alone!”

 

The man huffed. “I have to see his injuries.”

 

Having the advantage of being bigger and uninjured, the man won the struggle, pulling the juvie issued shirt up enough to see the bruising already starting to form. At first Mick had thought the sharp hiss he gave was in response to the evidence of the beating, but then he moved closer without even realizing it and caught sight of the exposed skin along the boy’s stomach and chest. A white hot anger that burned harsher than any he had felt before shot through him. Whoever had given him those scars was going to pay. They were going to die for that. Mick had never killed anyone before, but in that moment it didn’t matter. Whoever had hurt this boy would answer for this. “Who did that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

 

The attendant ignored him, fingers continuing to poke at the bruises on the boy’s side. “Definitely broken,” he muttered. “Does it hurt when you breathe?” The boy nodded slightly. “A dull ache or sharp?”

 

“Dull,” the boy whispered in a musical voice that pierced Mick’s heart.

 

The man was nodding. “That’s good. Means that you don’t have a punctured lung. Which is lucky. This one usually does more damage than this.”

 

His head inclined toward Mick and the boy looked down at him. The boy’s blue eyes pierced Mick’s heart as their gazes met. “Saved me,” the boy muttered. Was he trying to say you saved me or he saved me? Which of the onlookers had he been speaking to? In his heart Mick felt he knew the answer. Whatever he had felt when they’d touched, this boy had felt it too.

 

The attendant rolled his eyes, most likely still disbelieving. It made sense. This wouldn’t be the first time Mick had drug one of his victims to the infirmary knowing that the boy wouldn’t talk. Still, the thought was bitter. He was saved from popping off by the arrival of the guard from the yard. “How’s Snart?” he asked.

 

The unfamiliar word caught Mick’s attention. Snart. Was that the boy’s name? He tried it out on his tongue. At the sound of it the boy looked, those pretty blue eyes piercing his heart once more. The guard glanced between them. “The other boys backed up your story, reluctantly. Not that they could have hidden the truth even if they wanted.” He scrutinized Mick for a long moment. “It’s not like you to get involved in fights that aren’t your own.”

 

Mick shrugged. “It was five on one. Hardly seemed fair.”

 

The guard let that one slide, turning back to the attendant. “The kid going to live?”

 

The man stopped what he was doing, cleaning the cuts on the boy’s face to turn toward the guard. “Just some broken ribs and a lot of bruises. He’ll be in pain for weeks to come but no danger of dying as soon as I wrap his ribs.”

 

The guard nodded. “You do that and once you’re done, send him on with Rory. Since he seems to want to be the protector now for some reason, they can be cell mates.”

 

Mick froze at the suggestion. He hadn’t considered that, but if the boy was close it would be easier to watch out for him, something that he dearly wanted to do. The last cellmate he’d had was shit anyway. This boy would be much better. His eyes narrowed as the man began to wrap Snart’s ribs. The winces the boy gave made him grit his teeth. “Can’t you give him something for the pain?”

 

The attendant scoffed. “I don’t dole out drugs for scratches,” he said. The statement made Mick angry, but before he could respond the man was pulling off his rubber gloves. “He’s all yours now.”

 

Though he was afraid that he would feel the same spark as when he touched the boy in the yard, Mick stepped forward immediately, taking the boy’s weight as he helped him off the bed. There was no jolt this time, but he felt so much better having this kid so close to him again. He gave a parting glare over his shoulder as they left the infirmary. How could the man not even given him something for the pain? “He’s an ass,” he muttered to Snart. “As you’ve just learned. Best not to need him for anything.”

 

He led the boy toward the cell they were now to share, anxious to get to know him better. This Snart was certainly very quiet, not even remotely like his snarky talkative last cellmate. He sighed contently. Some quiet would be nice.


End file.
